


The Eye on the Sparrow

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Case Fic, Friendship, Gen, mostly offscreen violence or threats of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: A murder of a retired businessman in Kembleford turns out to be more complicated than it appears on the surface. While investigating, Father Brown uncovers an even darker plot. Meanwhile, Sid runs into someone from his past and ends up with questions of his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will take place between Seasons Three and Four....mainly because I really wanted Sullivan to be the inspector for this one....

_Towards the end of WWII_

“Come on, it’s an easy job. And it’s not like it’s something you haven’t done before. Why are you turning down such a ripe opportunity?”

Sid Carter let out a long sigh and leaned against the wall behind him. Across from him stood one of his closest friends in Kembleford, Nicky Anders. He and Nicky had met when Sid first came to Kembleford as a kid and they hit it off right away. Now as teenagers, they were more like partners in crime due to all the misadventures they had had together. More than one of them involving things less than legal.

Which was also how Sid would have to describe Nicky’s latest scheme. Although, he had to admit that Nicky was right about one thing. It wasn’t the first time that either of them had done this type of job. However, that didn’t make it any less questionable for him.

“Maybe, all right, but…it’s a church, Nicky,” Sid said. “You don’t steal from a church. It’s not right. Didn't you learn anything from when we were kids?”

“Look, the church is supposed to help the poor and unfortunate, aren’t they?” Nicky replied, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “That’s us all over. Besides, what’s the church ever done for either of us, eh?”

Sid snorted. “Come on, Nicky. You’re really asking me that?”

“I’m not talking about that priest who took you in,” Nicky said with a wave of his hand. “We both know he’s different, right. I’m talking about the church as a whole. People standing in there and talking about God and helping others. The same people who took away my dad’s job over one measly mistake and who would have left you in an orphanage to rot. And you know I’m right about this.” 

Sid shook his head and took a drag off his cigarette. The thing was, he didn’t really disagree with Nicky on this. His parents had been Catholic and had taken him to Mass when he was a small child, but work and other circumstances caused them to lapse on their faith as he grew older. And when they died, that ended Sid’s regular association with the church. Thus, it wasn’t as if it had been a major part of his life, the fact that he lived with a priest notwithstanding.

Plus, Sid had seen enough politics and hypocrisy around people in authority within the church to make it hard for him at times to see it as a truly benevolent entity. Including politics that conspired against Father Brown, the priest who had taken him in.

Still, the Father had proved to him multiple times that the mission of the church truly could be about love and service to others. Father Brown had done more than just give him food, clothes and a place to live. The Father had taken care of him with wisdom and compassion. Even more important than that, Sid had also seen first-hand that same wisdom and compassion be extended to all of the people Father Brown encountered and that those qualities could have a real effect on people’s lives. Over time, he came to believe that the Father was the product of the better aspects of the church’s influence and thus was reluctant to act against it.

On a more personal level though, Sid also knew that Father Brown would be disappointed and heartbroken if he went through with this plan. Sure, he might not find out due to the fact that he was currently employed as a chaplain in the army and had been away for over year. But even if the Father never found out, Sid knew that he’d still feel guilty over it and that it could drive a wedge between them.

And that was something that Sid was not willing to risk.

“Look Nicky, you said yourself that the plan wasn’t a sure thing, right?” he said. “You know what will happen to us if we’re caught stealing from a church. With our priors. They’d lock us up and throw away the key for who knows how long.”

“They won’t catch us if we’re careful,” Nicky said. “Especially if you’re the one handling the locks. That’s why I need you for this, Sid. You’re better at this than anyone else around here. Come on, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Sid scowled. He took another hit off his cigarette. “It’s just…I made a promise to the Father, Nicky. I promised him that I wouldn’t get into too much trouble.”

“Bit late for that now, innit?” Nicky sniggered. “You’ve had all sorts since he’s been away.”

“Now look, I’m serious.” Sid stood up from the wall and took a step closer to Nicky. “And I’ve not been in trouble like this. Not like what you’re suggesting. I gave him my word.”

“Your word?” Nicky said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

“Since now, all right?” Sid retorted. “I do this and get caught… I don’t know if he’ll forgive me this time. And even if he does, I won’t be able to look him in the eye ever again. And I’m not having that.”

“I don’t believe you,” Nicky snapped. “I thought we were friends. Best friends. And you know how bad I need that money so I can get out of here.”

“We are friends, Nicky,” Sid insisted. “’All for one’ and all that. And I know that you need to get out of here, but….” Sid took one more puff from the end of his cigarette before throwing it away, agitated. “I’m asking you as a friend: don’t make me choose between you and the Father. I owe him everything, Nicky, and you know it.”

“Right. And what do you owe me, eh?” Nicky said. “I covered for you more than once. And who had your back when you first moved here?”

Sid went back to leaning against the wall. By now, the sun had gone down and a light drizzle had started up. Which fit the mood that Sid was sinking into.

As much as he hated what Nicky was asking of him, Sid understood the reason behind it and sympathized. After Nicky’s father lost his job, he took to the drink hard. So hard that it killed him a year later. Nicky ended up living with his aunt and uncle who were a pair of real tyrants. Abusive, mean-spirited and controlling. Nicky was desperate to raise enough money to take off for London. The two of them had done a variety of odd jobs around Kembleford to make money, but their funds weren’t growing fast enough for Nicky.

Sid stared down at the pavement. He felt bad for letting his friend down. Especially given how easily he could have landed into a similarly bad situation after his parents died. That is if he hadn’t ended up homeless instead. Even if he didn’t often express it, deep down, Sid knew that he had been very fortunate to end up where he was.

“Nicky, look, I’ll help you get the money, all right? I’ll get a regular job or something. Or I’ll take on more handyman work around here. But I…I can’t do it that way. Not the way you’re saying. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry he says,” Nicky snorted. “That’s great. And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Nicky…I have a little money set aside, I can….”

“Keep it. I don’t want your money or your help,” Nicky spat at him. “I guess this is where we part company, Sid Carter. Best of luck to you.”

“Come on, Nicky,” Sid said. “It don’t have to be like that.”

“Yeah it does,” Nicky shot back. “You’re more worried about what some priest hundreds of miles away might think of you than about your friend right in front of you who needs help now. Some friendship. But I don’t need you anyway. I’ll find my own way out of here. Goodbye Sid.”

Nicky spun on his heel and ran off into the darkness before Sid could say another word. Sid thought about running after him, but knew that it’d probably would do no good. When Nicky was set on something, there was no arguing with him on it. He wasn’t sure now Nicky would pull it off, but something inside Sid told him that that would probably be the last time he’d see Nicky. Sid kicked a small rock near his boot as hard as he could. He was mad at himself for not coming up with a way to help Nicky.

And he was mad because he couldn’t bring himself to do what Nicky asked.

Really, why should he care what Father Brown might think? After all, a part of him was still angry with the Father for taking off for the army. Why did the Father have to do that? Didn’t he already serve in one war? Didn’t his own parishioners mean anything to him?

_‘Why did he leave me?’_

Sid ground his jaw and jammed his hands into his pockets. Whenever he got upset over Father Brown’s decision to leave for the army, it always came back to that last question. Even though Sid knew it had nothing to do with him. It was just the type of person the Father was. Of course he needed to serve as a chaplain in the army. It was all part of the Father’s constant mission to save as many souls as he could.

Not that knowing that made Sid feel any better.  Sid often worried that something could happen to the Father while he was tending to his regiment. The thought that Father Brown might not ever come back gnawed at him all the time. Plus, there was also the fact that he had just gotten used to having a stable home life again and it had been uprooted once more when the Father left.

Granted, the priest who was filling in for Father Brown had been kind enough to let Sid continue to live in the presbytery and give him work around the church to earn his keep and a little extra money on the side. Still, this priest was also remaining distant from Sid and was wholly focused on the business of the church itself rather than the community at large.  Thus, Sid was pretty much left on his own other than when he visited with Mrs McCarthy while she made him some lunch or dinner.

It also meant that Sid was often lonely…and Nicky leaving would only exasperate that loneliness.

The rain started to pick up and Sid trudged back toward the presbytery. Sid wished that Father Brown was here right now. He longed for the Father’s company and comfort. Deep down, he knew that he had done the right thing by refusing to go along with Nicky’s plan, but he craved the reassurance that the Father would probably give him for that decision. In the end though, it didn’t matter. Wishes weren’t going to bring the Father back any sooner.

Instead, Sid would just have to make do with the shelter of his own room and the hope that things would get better again soon.


	2. Chapter 2

_Several years later…._

Father Brown stepped outside of St. Mary’s and smiled as a ray of sunshine rose up to his face. A perfect accompaniment to his mood at that moment.

It was Sunday morning which meant it was time for Mass and for another chance to greet the members of his parish as they walked into the church. Sunshine and a gentle, brisk breeze were sure to be an encouragement as they arrived. Mrs. McCarthy had planned on another bake sale for the church’s roof fund, and Father Brown was pleased to see that it was going to be a good day for it.

After another minute of quiet contemplation of the new day, members of his congregation began to show up. Brown acknowledged each of them and was happy to see a couple of new additions.

One of them, Mr. Alistair Bolton tipped his head at Father Brown and made his way over to him, his wife, Marjorie, close to his side. The Boltons had recently moved into a manor on the outskirts of Kembleford. It had been abandoned by the previous owners five years ago and the Boltons were committed to restoring it to its former glory. Marjorie had been raised Catholic and Alistair decided to join the church when became engaged to her. From the brief conversations he had had with them, Father Brown was able to find out that Alistair was a retired businessman who had sold off his companies and moved out to the countryside for a quieter life.

“Ah Father Brown, just the man I wanted to see,” Alistair said.

“Good morning, Mr. Bolton,” Father Brown said. “And Mrs. Bolton.”

“Please, Father, call me Alistair,” he replied. “There’s no need for formality with either of us. After all, I’m not really a member of the gentry even if I am living at one of their old houses.”

“All right…Alistair,” Brown said. “You said there was something you wanted to see me about?”

“Well it’s nothing major,” Alistair replied. “It’s more like my wife had something to tell you.”

“Yes, I’m having a party tomorrow,” Marjorie said. “Sort of a get-together so we can get to know everyone here in Kembleford. Anyway, I would absolutely love it if you could come too, Father.”

“I’d be delighted,” Brown smiled at her. Just then, Mrs. McCarthy appeared at his elbow.

“Father, the Tuttles were wondering if…oh, Mr and Mrs. Bolton, hello….”

“Please, like I just told Father Brown, Alistair is fine,” Alistair said. “And I’m sure Marjorie would like you to come to our little soiree as well.”

“Of course,” Marjorie replied. “You’re more than welcome.”

“Oh, well thank you,” McCarthy said. “Thank you very much. Yes, I’ll be sure to come.”

“Splendid,” Marjorie said. “The party will start in the afternoon at about two.”

“We’ll be looking forward to it,” Father Brown said as the Boltons walked into the church.

“Be sure to stop by our bake sale this afternoon,” McCarthy called after them. “I’ve made my scones…and a scrumptious chocolate cake.”

“Chocolate cake? I’m not going to miss out on that.”

Father Brown and Mrs. McCarthy glanced over to see Lady Felicia walking toward them with Sid close behind. McCarthy let out a short huff.

“Oh no, I remember the last time I let you get near one of my cakes during that potluck,” she said. “Barely a bite for anyone else. But that’s not going to happen this time, Sidney Carter.”

“Oi, I didn’t eat that much,” Sid protested. “And besides, you didn’t see the piece Father had.”

“Thank you, Sid,” Father Brown sighed. Sid smirked and him and walked over to lean against the wall near the entrance. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, igniting it with one smooth flick of his lighter.

“Good morning, Father,” Felicia said. “Mrs. M. I’ll be sure to drop by the bake sale later on.”

“And what about the party tomorrow afternoon?” McCarthy said. “The Father and I just got an invitation.”

“To the Boltons? Yes, we got an invitation ourselves yesterday,” Felicia said. “Monty is heading off to London again so I’ll be attending on my own, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, seems like they invited most of Kembleford to this thing,” Sid added. “Not just the gentry and the rich people either. Looks like they really do want to get to know everyone around here.”

“It should be rather interesting,” Felicia said. “Marjorie is a lovely person and a gracious host so I’m sure it will be a smashing success.”

“I take it you’ve been to their house before?” Father Brown said.

“A couple of times,” Felicia nodded. “Marjorie is quite social. Alistair on the other hand….he isn’t as much as you might think he would be. Oh he is certainly friendly enough and knows how to make a favorable impression with people. But I think he prefers to leave most of the social obligations to Marjorie.”

“So he’s more comfortable handing business and financial matters from behind the scenes,” Brown said.

“Quite,” Felicia said. “And he was very successful at it, from what I hear. He started out with a couple of grocery stores and increased his holdings with their profits.”

“Yeah, I remember one of those places from back when I was in London,” Sid said, taking a puff from his cigarette. “Bit too posh if you ask me. They charged three times as much for biscuits that tasted just as good as the ones from cheap places.”

“As if you would actually know,” McCarthy said. “If they were so expensive, how were you able to try them?”

“Well, I *ahem* got ‘em with a discount,” Sid coughed. Both Felicia and McCarthy rolled their eyes while Sid continued to smoke in silence.

“Anyway, apparently after sending his sons to university, Alistair decided that he wanted to retire,” Felicia continued. “Marjorie was thrilled with the idea and had suggested Kembleford after a friend mentioned that there was a manor that had been put up for sale. He sold his companies for a tidy profit. And from the sound of things, neither he and his wife nor his sons will have to work for the rest of their lives.”

“Well at least he’s finding decent things to do with all that money,” McCarthy added. “I heard he made a very generous donation to St. Abigail’s. That girls’ orphanage just outside of town. Hopefully, a donation to our roof fund is not far behind.”

Father Brown nodded as he glanced over at Sid and then tilted his head. Sid seemed to be looking at something off in the distance while his cigarette continued to burn and shed ashes between his fingers.

“Sid? Are you all right?”

Sid blinked in surprise before finally looking over at him. “Eh? Oh um, it’s nothing Father.” He tossed the remainder of his cigarette away. “Just thought I saw something.”

Sid walked away toward Lady Felicia’s car, his hands stuffed into his pockets. The way that Sid kept looking off to either side convinced Father Brown that it probably was not “nothing” after all. Something was troubling Sid. Something…or someone.

Father Brown took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Now was not the time for puzzles and unanswered questions. This was God’s time. The time for him to attend to those who He had entrusted to his care and guidance. He would have to put aside his concerns about Sid until later.

His mind cleared, Father Brown opened his eyes and walked into the church, closing the doors behind him.

* * *

 

As it turned out, Father Brown was not the only one who had been watching Sid walk away.

Standing alongside a building a few yards away was a man. A man who made sure to stay within the shadow that stretched from the rooftop. He was also smoking a cigarette and had smirked when he got a good glimpse of Sid standing next to the church.

_‘Sidney Carter…a chauffeur for a lady? Will wonders never cease….’_

The man laughed to himself and finished his cigarette before grinding the butt into the pavement. He supposed that he shouldn’t have been that surprised to see him in Kembleford. After all, Sid did seem oddly fond of the place. Then again, it still managed to surprise him. Mainly because he believed that neither of them really belonged here.

The man watched the church for a moment longer before walking away. For a moment, he wondered if he should tell his boss about this, but quickly discarded the idea. Sid was part of his past and besides it wasn’t as if Sid would interfere with the work they were going to do here. Not if he was still the same Sidney Carter he had known before.

He smiled as he picked up his pace. Perhaps he would meet up with Sid later. Find out why he seemed to be happy driving people in their cars and hanging around a church.

And maybe…maybe even see if Sid was ready for something better.

* * *

 

A few houses away, someone else had been watching the parishioners file into the church. He had stood behind windows with cheap glass that always looked smudged no matter how much he cleaned them. He had regarded most of the people who walked by with a bored, detached demeanor until one man in particular passed by: Alistair Bolton.

The man ground his jaw and clenched his hands into fists as a quiet, slow-moving rage built up inside him yet again. Even saying the name in his mind was enough to spark the anger he had carried around for so long. It was a rage that was continuously fed by memories that had been poisoned by resentment and by disappointments. Disappointments like the fact that he was standing in this dingy little junk shop instead of where he was supposed to be.

“Dad? Dad, are you all right?”

The man turned to see his teenage daughter walking up behind him, a Bible in her hands.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the Bible she was holding.

“I thought I’d go to Mass,” she said, inching toward the door. “I hadn’t been for a few weeks and I’d…I’d really like to go. You could go too. Service doesn’t really start for another….”

“Going to Mass?” he spat. “For what? What has God or the church ever done for you, eh? Or for this family?”

“Dad, please….Mother….”

“Don’t you ever bring up….” the man began. “Do you really believe God listened to even one of your mother’s prayers? She prayed day and night…and what did that get her, eh?”

The daughter bowed her head and put her hand on the doorknob. “I, I’ll be back later to do the cleaning.” She opened the door and ran outside, sprinting toward St. Mary’s as fast as she could.

The man followed her as far as his doorway, but would not step outside.

“Annie! Annie, come back here!”

He watched her continue to run until she slipped into the entrance of the church. Annie was just like her mother. Right down to having an unwavering belief in God and His kindness. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he couldn’t really be angry at her for that. Not even when it hurt to be reminded so much of his dear wife.

Eventually, he walked back inside and turned his anger back toward Alistair Bolton. Bolton was the real reason why he had just had an argument with his daughter. Bolton was the reason why he was standing her missing his wife instead of going to Mass with his family.

And in that moment, he swore that he’d find a way to make Bolton pay for every single thing that had been taken away from him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next afternoon, most of Kembleford was at the Bolton estate.

The party had been scheduled to take place outside and had almost been set up when dark clouds made for an abrupt change of plans. The possibility of a sudden shower forced everyone inside only minutes before a downpour started up. Nevertheless, the inclement weather did nothing to diminish the carefree atmosphere. The guests ended up piling into the ball room and front room and while it did make things a little crowded, no one seemed to mind.

In a corner near the entrance to the ballroom, Father Brown, Lady Felicia, Mrs. McCarthy stood with the Boltons while enjoying some champagne.

“Congratulations Marjorie.” Felicia said. “The party seems to be a success. And you’ve really done so much with the house. It looks wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Marjorie beamed. “Alistair and I agreed that we should try to retain as much of the traditional charm of the place as we could even with our efforts to modernize it.”

“Your efforts clearly have paid off,” Father Brown nodded. “I can see a lot of the traditional mixed in with this restoration.”

“She’s giving me too much credit,” Alistair said as he put an arm around his wife’s waist. “The fact is, Marjorie is mainly responsible for the manor looking as good as it does. All I did was mention a few amenities that I hoped to add on. And open my checkbook, of course.”

“Yes, it looks very nice with all these changes,” Mrs. McCarthy nodded. “The manor sorely needed some fixing up. As do some other buildings these days.”

Father Brown inwardly cringed at the transparent attempt to steer the conversation in one particular direction. Fortunately, Alistair needed no further hints.

“Yes, like the roof of St. Mary’s,” he laughed. “I know that repair work on it has been slow, Father and I would like to help speed things along.”

“We’d be grateful for any assistance,” Brown replied.

“Ah we’d be glad to help,” Alistair said with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, you have such a lovely church,” Marjorie added. “And all of you have been so welcoming to us ever since we arrived here. It’s the least we could do.”

“I’m sure Mrs. McCarthy can give you more details as to our needs,” Brown said.

“Splendid,” Alistair replied. “I’ll be sure to drop by with my solicitor some time this week. The sooner we get something started, the sooner we won’t have to worry about another one of those thunderstorms interrupting your homilies, Father.”

“Quite,” Brown said with a wan smile. A week ago, a particularly bad storm resulted in a steady trickle of water in the middle of the pews. He managed to make it through his homily…although he did notice that his congregation was distracted by concerns of the water spreading all over the floor.

Father Brown sipped at his drink and looked at the guests all around him. There was indeed a wide range of people here from the local gentry to shopkeepers and farmers. However, he also noticed that the guests clustered together into groups based on their “status” in society. For the most part, the gentry avoided talking to local merchants while the farmers made sure to avoid the guests with titles.

Brown finished his drink and shook his head. Unfortunately, social circles seemed to be almost impossible to cross at times, no matter how well meaning the efforts to erase them might be.

“Alistair? Alistair Bolton, a country squire. My word, I simply had to see this for myself.”

Everyone in Father Brown’s group turned to see a man with a stocky build and dark hair stroll over toward them. He wore a bright blue sport jacket over a white dress shirt and khakis.

“How long has it been?” the man asked. “Two years? Three?”

“Five,” Alistair answered. “Although, you’d hardly know it to look at you.”

“Andrew,” Marjorie said, her tone clipped. “How nice to see you.” Father Brown noted the way her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass.

“Father, Lady Felicia, Mrs. McCarthy, I’d like you to meet Andrew Carstairs,” Alistair said. “An old business rival of mine.”

“Not the Carstairs,” McCarthy said. “Of Carstairs Confectionaries and Greengrocers?”

“One in the same, I’m afraid,” Andrew nodded. “Alistair here used to be one of my biggest competitors back in the day. That is, until he decided to get out of the retail food business. By the way, Alistair, I never did get a chance to ask why you did it. Especially seeing as you were at the top of your game.”

Alistair still had a smirk on his face, but it was impossible to miss the discomfort in Marjorie’s expression even though she seemed to be trying to hide it. Lady Felicia responded to this by moving a little closer to her while keeping an impassive gaze on Andrew.

“I suppose I simply tired of all the games,” Alistair responded. “After all, when you have nothing left to prove, it all just becomes rather tedious, doesn’t it?”

Andrew’s face fell slightly and Father Brown could see a glint of anger in his eyes. However, it swiftly disappeared as Andrew let out a short laugh.

“Touché, Alistair, touché,” he said. “Still, I have to wonder if you don’t miss it just a little. The thrill of competition, the drive to leave one’s mark on this world.”

“Or the race to make an obscene amount of money,” Marjorie injected.

“There’s nothing obscene about having a lot of money,” Andrew countered.

“Perhaps not,” Father Brown said. “But there are many obscene ways of acquiring it.”

“Fair point, Father,” Andrew said with a nod in his direction.

“So why exactly have you come out here, Andrew?” Alistair said. “I thought you never left London if you could help it. Or are you really that interested to see how I am getting on in my retirement?”

“Well that was a small part of it to be sure,” Andrew chuckled. “But no, I do have other business. I’ve been thinking about expanding my real estate holdings and a friend of mine suggested this quaint little village. Told me that it had all the makings of a real up and comer although I haven’t seen it yet. Well, I suppose that that sort of thing isn’t always obvious…. And I figured that, as long as I’m here, I could look up my old rival.”

“I’m sure Kembleford would welcome the prospect of increased business opportunities,” Brown said. “That is, as long as they were ones that actually benefited the community as a whole and not just a select few.”

“Naturally, Father,” Andrew replied. “It’s bad business to turn the locals against you. One must do what he can to get them on his side. Even if fear of change and short-sightedness can make it an uphill battle. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I will have one more drink before I head off.”

Andrew held out his hand to Alistair which Alistair shook albeit not with much enthusiasm.

“Goodbye, Alistair,” Andrew said. “It was good to see you again. And you as well, Marjorie. Oh and by the way, just so you won’t think too badly of me for crashing your party, I brought with me a bottle of whisky from my cousin’s distillery. He had a few ten year bottles that he is planning to sell and I managed to convince him to part with one of them. I left it with one of your servants near the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Andrew. That was right sporting of you,” Alistair said. “Your cousin does have a true gift when it comes to the craft involved with the production of spirits.”

“He does indeed,” Andrew said. “And you’re quite welcome. It was the least I could do to make up for showing up without an invitation. Anyway, I must dash. It was nice to meet you all. I hope I can run into some of you again before I return to London.”

“Farewell, Andrew,” Alistair said. “And good luck on your latest venture.”

Andrew sauntered away, snatching a glass of champagne from a tray just before another guest could reach it. Marjorie watched him leave, shaking her head.

“Honestly, Alistair, I don’t know why you are so polite to him,” she said. “He was beastly to you when you were still running your businesses. All those dirty tricks.”

“Sadly, that’s part of the game for him and others like him,” Alistair said. “For everyone in that line of work, really. I suppose it’s mainly a matter of how far one is willing to go to get ahead.”

_‘And how far were you willing to go?’_ Father Brown wondered silently, the question instantly popping into his inquisitive mind. He did manage, however, to keep that question to himself. A party was not really the sort of place for that kind of inquiry. He would just have to hope that Alistair found a way to absolve his sins if there was any substance to the implications behind that comment.

“That may be, but Marjorie is right, Alistair,” Felicia added. “Monty mentioned meeting Carstairs about a year ago during one of his trips to London. Apparently, he struck Monty as a rather vulgar man who would do just about anything for money and who has little tact. I see now that Monty wasn’t wrong in his assessment.”

“Well, regardless, it doesn’t mean much to me anymore,” Alistair said. “I’ve gotten out of that sort of work and am perfectly happy to devote my time and energy to this estate and to my family.”

“It’s just as well as that you did,” Mrs. McCarthy said with a firm nod. “If it meant dealing with unpleasant people like him.”

Father Brown continued to partially listen to the conversation around him, but also turned some of his attention back to the other guests. Despite the fact that people continued to not mingle across class lines for the most part, everyone seemed to having a good time. The rain outside only enhanced the cozy atmosphere that had taken over the inside of the manor.

However, Brown did spy one person who was not partaking in the festivities. A woman in a plain, green dress was standing by one of the windows and she did not speak to anyone else. Brown recognized her right away: Sarah Wingate. Sarah and her brother ran a bakery in the village. And Father Brown made sure to never reveal to Mrs. McCarthy that he had become a fan of Sarah’s sticky buns and that he sometimes would sneak a couple of them to the presbytery to share with Sid.  

Right now though, Sarah did not look like her usual quiet, but cheerful self. She looked tired. Wistful, as if sad memories had been dredged up by the gloom outside. Most of the time, she kept her gaze on the window, but every once in a while, she would take a brief, furtive glance at the other party goers.

It wasn’t long though before Father Brown realized that Sarah wasn’t looking at the crowd of people around her. She was looking at only one person every time: Alistair Bolton.

Brown was about to walk over to her to see if there was anything he could do when the sound of breaking glass caught his attention.

“You. I wonder if you even remember me. ‘Cause I sure remember you.”

Father Brown looked over to see Bruce O’Neil, a local shopkeeper, staggering over toward Alistair and Marjorie. O’Neil ran a small junk shop a short distance away from St. Mary’s. His daughter, Annie, attended Sunday Mass whenever she could.

Brown watched as Marjorie kept glancing at her husband who remained silent and impassive in the face of O’Neil’s snarling fury.

“Yes. Yes, I remember you, Mr. O’Neil,” Alistair said with a quiet, even tone.

“Then you remember what you did,” O’Neil spat, continuing to shuffle toward him. “You remember how you ruined me and my family. My father built our store with his own two hands. He and my mother slaved over it their whole lives to make it successful. It was the one thing they had that they could leave behind for me. And I was going to leave it to my children. Continue the family tradition. And then you came along.”

O’Neil stopped a couple of feet in front of Alistair, breathing hard and wagging a shaking finger in the other man’s face.

“You couldn’t be happy just competing with me,” O’Neil continued. “You couldn’t just let me and mine be. No, you had to steal from us. You did everything you could to smear our reputation. You used every underhanded trick you could think of.”

“Mr. O’Neil I can assure that nothing I did was outside the bounds of the law nor….”

“Oh sure, nothing illegal,” O’Neil scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “All neat and tidy and within the law. But it was still dirty. You just found a way to use the law to do your dirty work. I lost everything. My shop, my home…and even my wife. And look at you: throwing parties and smiling and acting like everything is all fine and dandy.”

O’Neil took another large step toward him, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“No, you might be able to put it behind you, but I can’t,” he hissed. “And I’m going to make sure that you never will forget what you did to me and my family.”

O’Neil stomped out of the room, the guests parting on either side to let him pass. Father Brown began to follow him and as he did, he noticed Sarah leaving her spot near the window and disappearing into the crowd. After that, Brown put all his energy into following O’Neil.

By the time Father Brown caught up with him, O’Neil had gone outside. Fortunately, the rain had tapered off to a light sprinkle although there were dark clouds close by.

“Mr. O’Neil,” Brown called out after him. “If there is anything I can do….” O’Neil paused, but did not turn around.

“There’s nothing you can do for me, Father,” he said. “Your God did nothing for me when I needed Him most. When Helen...when she needed His help more than anything.”

“I am sorry,” Father Brown replied. “I….”

“No, Father,” O’Neil interrupted. “God turned His back on me years ago. I’ve got no reason to look to Him now.”

O’Neil walked away, heading toward the road that lead back to the village. Brown watched him leave until the other man disappeared from view. It always weighed on his heart to see a member of his flock become overwhelmed by trials in their life and then fall away from God. Especially when those were the times when people needed God the most.

A clap of thunder broke Brown’s reverie, but a frown remained on his face.  Seeing no other course of action available to him at this time, Father Brown said a prayer on O’Neil’s behalf before walking back in to rejoin the others.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The rain that lasted most of the day eventually gave way to a cool, crisp twilight. It was the sort of evening that felt perfect to Sid for a night out to himself. Thus, after he drove Lady Felicia back home from the Bolton’s party, he stopped by his caravan, changed out of his chauffeur’s uniform, and headed off to the Red Lion.

He had about the uninvited guests who dropped by the party from Lady Felicia as he drove her home. From what she said, it sounded like something Sid almost regretted missing. Almost. After all, there was the consolation of hanging around the kitchen and having all the leftovers he wanted. As well as getting to know the Bolton’s newest maid.

Sid walked up to the bar and ordered himself a beer. He had hoped to run into his new acquaintance at the pub tonight. Although, he also knew that that was dependent on whether or not she could get her share of the cleanup from the party done early enough. He took his time drinking his first two beers and listened in on a few conversations to pass the time. Not only was it mildly entertaining, but he never knew when something he heard could prove useful to the Father during an investigation at some point.

He hung around for a couple of hours, but saw no sign of the girl he had planned on meeting. Disappointed, Sid started to head for the bar again to get one more for the road before heading back to his caravan for an early night for a change.

“Sid Carter…and here I thought I’d never see you again.”

Sid turned from the bar to see who had spoken to him and was stunned by what he saw. The man behind him had a tweed suit and a mustache and had aged a few years since he had seen him last. It took him a few seconds to get past these superficial changes, but once he did, a huge grin appeared on his face.

“Nicky? Nicky Anders? Is that really you?” Sid walked over and shook Nicky’s hand and patted his arm. “I don’t believe it. Look at you. Looks like you made out all right.”

“And you’re still here in Kembleford,” Nicky said, patting Sid’s shoulder. “Somehow, I always knew you’d end up staying here. And what about that priest? Father Brown? Did he get back all right? And what about you?”

“Yeah, he came back just before the war ended,” Sid replied. “As for me, there’s not much to tell. I still do odd jobs and handyman work. On top of that you can add being a chauffeur for a lady.”

“Sid Carter, going straight and doing honest work?” Nicky said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, mostly honest work,” Sid chuckled. “But what about you? I never did hear what happened to you after you got out of Kembleford.”

“Honesty, I’m sorry about that,” Nicky said. “I really am. I was just so desperate to leave, I suppose I took that out on you. And then I got so busy with my new life, the years just sort of slipped away. You are right though that my fortunes have definitely changed.”

Nicky walked over toward the bar with Sid walking alongside him. “Before I get into that though, I’m feeling rather parched.”

“Sure,” Sid said. He waved to get the attention of the bartender. “Two beers.”

“And I’m buying,” Nicky said, holding up a ten shilling note. Sid grinned back at him.

“Well, I’m not going to argue that,” he said. “So come on, what did happen?”

Nicky held up his hand to wait until they had gotten their beers and he had paid for them. Then they moved to sit at one of the tables near the back.

“I got a job,” Nicky said, sipping his drink. “A proper one. You heard of Andrew Carstairs? The retail mogul?”

“Yeah, Lady F…I mean, Lady Felicia…she’s the lady I work for,” Sid said. “She mentioned he showed up at a party I took her to earlier today. From what she said, he sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Well, I can’t agree with you too much there,” Nicky chuckled. “Because he’s my employer now.”

“You’re kidding,” Sid replied, smirking. Nicky took a long drag on his beer before laughing again.

“It’s true,” he insisted. “You’re looking at Mr. Carstairs’ personal assistant.”

“Right,” Sid chuckled. “And how did you swing that, eh? Whatever it was, it must have been a whopper of a scheme.”

“It was nothing as underhanded as you’re implying,” Nicky smiled. “He happened to know my previous employer, who recommended me for the job.”

“Maybe so, but you don’t exactly strike me as the typewriter and shorthand type,” Sid countered. “So what are you doing for him?”

“All sorts of things,” Nicky shrugged. He gulped down most of his beer before continuing. “I look after things for him. Check up on the other people who work for him to make sure they’re doing their jobs. When he’s thinking about making a business deal with someone, I go out ahead of him to get the ‘lay of the land’ so to speak. And, of course, I do any other odd jobs that need doing.”

“And he pays you pretty well for all that then?” Sid asked.

“Enough to keep my comfortable,” Nicky said. “For now anyway.”

“You thinking of making a change in the near future?”

“Let’s just say that I always like to keep my options open,” Nicky said, finishing his beer. “It’s no good to let yourself stagnate. Right?”

“I guess,” Sid shrugged. “You never were one for letting the grass grow under your feet.”

“That’s why I was always the one who was better at spotting opportunities,” Nicky laughed. “Especially when we were working together.”

“Hang on,” Sid said, sitting upright in his chair. “I was the one who told you about that Davers job and how loose the old man was with his money. And that was one of the best jobs we ever pulled. Oh and what about that woman with her music box collection. Or did you forget about how I had to hang around and listen to all those blinking music boxes for a week so we could work out a plan?”

“You’re forgetting though that I was the one who made all those plans run smoothly,” Nicky argued. “That’s why we worked so well together. I was the brains. You were the brawn.”

“Funny, I don’t remember it like that,” Sid smirked.

“You always did have a bad memory,” Nicky smirked back. “It’s why you need someone to keep you in line.”

After that, the conversation moved between playful bickering and fond recollections of the various schemes and mishaps the two of them had gotten into as boys. It felt a bit odd to Sid to be able to laugh so much about those times now. Back then, Nicky was facing poverty and he was still dealing with the loss of his parents and then with Father Brown leaving Kembleford for the war. But somehow, the passage of time had smoothed away most of the unhappy parts of that time which allowed the good memories shine through.

Or maybe it was just easier to remember the good times while things were currently better in his life.

As they downed some more beers, Sid also contemplated the sense of relief that he had over seeing Nicky again. He had always wondered what had happened to him after they had parted ways. Nicky was clever, of course, but he also had a tendency to get more than a little shortsighted in his quest for more money. Sid worried that that aspect of Nicky’s personality could get him mixed up with the wrong people and that that could lead to Nicky spending a long time in prison…or worse.

Instead, it looked as if Nicky had charmed and conned his way into a prosperous and, on the surface anyway, legal way of life. Sid was happy for him as he remembered how much hardship Nicky and his family had suffered.

On a more personal level, Sid was also pleased that their friendship had not been broken beyond repair. Nicky had been one of the closest friends Sid had ever had. It felt good to reconnect with him, especially now that neither of them was doing badly in life.

Sid finished off his latest pint and let out a loud burp before leaning back in his chair. “So, how long do you think you’ll be in Kembleford?”

“I don’t know,” Nicky said before draining what was left in his glass. “A week at least. Mr. Carstairs is looking at some business opportunities around here. Says that there’s real potential out in these parts.”

“Good luck to him then,” Sid nodded. “In the meantime, maybe the two of us could meet up again. I know a place where you can get the best shepherd’s pie in all of Kembleford.”

“I’d like that,” Nicky said. “And perhaps I can offer something to you as well. Like a chance to do some high-paying work?”

“Sounds promising. What kind of work did you have in mind?”

“Too early to say,” Nicky answered. “It’ll depend on what my boss wants done. But when something comes up, I could put in a good word for you. Who knows? It could lead to something more permanent. We could be partners again.”

Sid smiled at him. The prospect of working with Nicky again and making a good living while doing it did appeal to him. However, the vague way Nicky talked about it made Sid wonder if what they would be doing would be entirely legal. Not that that alone was enough to deter Sid, but these days it did give him some pause. Plus, a permanent position could mean having to leave Kembleford which he also wasn’t sure about.

“Yeah, let me know,” Sid said. “And I’ll be sure to think about it.”

“Well don’t take too long to think about it,” Nicky cautioned. “If something does come up, you won’t want to let it pass you by ‘cause you might not get another opportunity.”

Sid nodded again and pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. He wasn’t all that sure about his chances to work with Nicky again long term.

However, he was determined to not let his chance to mend their friendship slip by him.

* * *

 

Later that night, after the moon had started to wane in the sky, a figure dressed in black snuck onto the Bolton estate.

Slowly and carefully, they crept up to the main house and managed to slip in through an open window near the foyer. They had to wait patiently whenever a servant appeared nearby, but their patience paid off as they slipped past all of them and managed to make it over to the study. They opened the door and made sure to close it with great care so it wouldn’t creak.

Then the figure walked around the room, as if to admire all the lavish furnishings and large inventory of books. It wasn’t long though before they walked over to their intended destination: a small stand next to the oak desk that sat in the back of the room. The stand held a small collection of crystal bottles, including one that held some whiskey.

They opened a window and dumped the remainder of the whiskey into the bushes outside. Then they pulled another bottle out of a pouch that was slung around their shoulder. The contents were poured into the now empty container and appeared to be identical to what had been in there before.

Soon, the bottle was filled and returned to its previous spot on the stand. The empty bottle that the figure had brought with them was put back into the pouch. Then they climbed out of the window and dashed off into the night, quickly being swallowed by the darkness.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow their mission would begin. And Alistair Bolton would pay for what he had done.


	5. Chapter 5

Two days after the party, Lady Felicia was sitting with Marjorie outside so they could enjoy the sunshine. They were sharing some tea and sandwiches together at a table near the garden.

“Lovely party, Marjorie,” Felicia smiled. “I think Kembleford is ready to welcome you and your husband with open arms.”

“Thank you,” Marjorie replied. “And I do hope so. Finding this place and moving here…we’ve wanted a place like this for years. It just wasn’t feasible until Alistair was ready to retire.”

“I imagine that wasn’t an easy decision for him to make,” Felicia nodded. “Especially given how many people would say that he was at the top of his game, so to speak. Men like that, they usually are loathe to walk away when they are at that status in any industry.”

“That’s Alistair all right,” Marjorie laughed. “He has always treated the running of his business like a competition. And like you said, he doesn’t believe in quitting. I think he truly enjoyed seeing if he could find new ways to top his latest successes. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to give it up. But then….”

Marjorie paused and shook her head. Felicia leaned toward her. “I take it, something changed?” she said.

“Six months before we came here, Alistair was in a dreadful state,” Marjorie replied. “He spent almost all of his time at the office and during what little time he did spend at home, he was always…distant. Preoccupied. Toward the end of it, I was certain that it was starting to affect his health. I would have called for a doctor, if it weren’t for….”

“If it weren’t for what?” Marjorie’s eyes flicked down to her lap as she took in a shaky breath. Felicia laid a hand on her arm. “Marjorie?”

“There…there was a time when I thought, when I thought that there might have been someone else,” Marjorie answered. “All the old clichés were there: the late nights away from home, the fact that he hardly looked at me when we were together, and the fact that he wouldn’t tell me about what was bothering him.”

Marjorie sat her tea cup down on the table and clasped her hands together in her lap.

“To be honest, when Alistair first told me that he was thinking of selling his companies and moving here to Kembleford, I thought that he was trying to make things up to me in some way. That maybe all this was meant to be some kind of apology for things he had done that I didn’t know about.”

“You mean, to make up for an affair,” Felicia nodded.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Marjorie said. “Or that maybe he was doing it to get away from someone. From her. I know it sounds absurd, but during the party….”

Marjorie bowed her head and took a deep breath. Felicia sat her own tea cup down and patted Marjorie’s arm again to comfort her. Then she waited patiently for Marjorie to continue.

“I saw a woman at the party,” Marjorie said. “She was wearing a green dress and had this sad look on her face. She spent most of the time near the windows and I remember wondering why she showed up in the first place if that was all she was going to do. She certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying herself. But then I saw her look at Alistair. And then I saw Alistair looking at her. It was as if they knew each other.”

“Did you see Alistair talk to her or go near her?” Felicia asked.

“No, no he was by my side the whole afternoon. Later, she disappeared after that man, Mr. O’Neil, left. I think I might have seen her around Kembleford before, but I just can’t think of where I might have seen her.”

Marjorie let out a sigh and raised her head. She poured herself and Lady Felicia another cup of tea before taking a drink from her cup.

“I know Alistair loves me,” she added. “Or rather, I know he did love me once. I had thought he still did.”

“And I don’t think you’re wrong,” Felicia replied. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re together. And I can assure you that these are not the glances a man gives someone whom he is no longer interested in. Whatever is going on, I don’t think it is happening because he’s stopped loving you.”

Marjorie smiled at her. “Thank you, Lady Felicia. I do hope you’re right. No, I’m sure you are. I just I wish I knew what was inside his head.”

“You wouldn’t be the first wife who wished she knew that,” Felicia sighed. “And I doubt that you’ll be the last either. Men always think that they are making our lives easier by not talking to us during the very times when they should be telling us everything.”

She gave Marjorie another encouraging smile. “Give it time. Now that he’s away from all that and has a chance to relax, I’m sure he’ll realize that it was silly of him to hide whatever was bothering him from you.”

“You’re right,” Marjorie nodded. “Thank you again. You’ve been such a dear friend ever since we’ve moved here.”

Felicia nodded and leaned back in her chair, holding her tea cup just below her lips. She had meant what she said about Alistair, although what Marjorie had told her was troubling. Still, her instincts told her that Alistair was not acting out of concern over his wife finding out about an affair. Nor did his demeanor strike her as being the sort a husband had when he had long since stopped loving his wife. Or had even grown tired of pretending to have cared about her. No, this sounded more like fear. Fear of her finding out something that he couldn’t bear for her to know about him. Something outside of their relationship.

She took a sip of her tea and smiled as the conversation drifted toward more pleasant subjects like the gardens around the estate. The Boltons really were a fine couple and it was refreshing to see that they were still in love after decades of marriage.

Even if Lady Felicia could not help feeling a little jealous over it as well.

* * *

 

On the other side of the manor, Father Brown was riding up the driveway on his bicycle, slowing down as he got nearer to the house. As he got off his bicycle and moved it to the side to park it, he thought again about the phone call he had gotten earlier this morning from Alistair.

_“Father, I was wondering if I could ask you to come by today. I need to talk to you about….there are some things in my life, some of which I’m not proud of and some of which have me worried. And not just for my own sake. I am sorry, I can’t go into this on the phone. I just…please stop by today if you can.”_

Father Brown had spent most of his journey puzzling over what Alistair could have meant by all that. It was clear that he was seeking redemption for something in his past. Or in his present life. But other parts of it sounded as if he was worried that something could happen in the future. And that it might involve other people.

Brown forced himself to set those questions aside as he went up to the front door. Alistair appeared to need spiritual guidance which meant that this was no time for speculation. Instead, he would need to open his mind to God so he could receive the wisdom he required to minister to Alistair’s soul.

He was just about to use the door knocker when the door flew open and another man, tall with silver hair and hazel eyes, stormed outside. The man brushed past Father Brown without a word, stomping over to a car that was parked nearby and abruptly speeding away.

A butler appeared in the doorway shortly afterward.

“Terribly sorry about that, Father.”

“Not at all,” Brown replied. “I believe Mr. Bolton is expecting me.”

“Yes, do come in,” the butler said, moving aside so Brown could enter. “Mr. Bolton is currently engaged in other matters in his study. He will see you shortly. You are welcome to wait in here or in the living room.”

“Yes, I think, I will go sit down in the living room,” Brown said. He followed the butler out of the foyer. “Excuse me, Mister….?”

“Farnsby, Father.”

“Yes, Mr. Farnsby. I was wondering, who that gentleman was who just left?”

“That would be Mr. Cavendish,” Farnsby answered. “From what I gather, he used to be employed by Mr. Bolton.”

“I see,” Brown replied. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Father.”

They arrived at a large room with several comfortable looking couches and glass doors that opened up to the estate grounds. “Are you sure that I can’t get you some refreshment? Mr. Bolton indicated that it might be a while before he can see you.”

“No thank you,” Father Brown said. “Although, I wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at the Boltons’ gardens. I understand there is a hedge maze on the grounds.”

“Yes, there is,” Farnsby nodded. “However, it is not advisable to wander around the maze without a map or a guide. It’s quite easy to get lost, you see. But if you would like to see more of the gardens, feel free to go through these doors. When Mr. Bolton is ready to see you, I’ll send one of the maids to fetch you.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Father Brown smiled. He walked through the glass doors and onto a rough stone path outside.

He had only gotten a few feet away from the house when he spotted a familiar, green-uniform clad figure sitting on a rock and smoking a cigarette.

“Sid,” he said, walking over to him. Sid nodded and blew out a puff of smoke.

“Father,” Sid replied. He flicked off the ash at the end of his cigarette before discarding it entirely.

“I take it, Lady Felicia is here somewhere.”

“Yep. Her Ladyship decided to drop by to thank Mrs. Bolton for a nice party and then they decided to have tea together.”

“Yes,” Brown said. “The party did seem to go over well with most of the town.”

“And with the servants too,” Sid said. “We got to finish up all the food and drinks that were leftover. Even the champagne. The maids said that the Boltons do that sort of thing all the time. They seem like a good sort.”

Father Brown nodded in reply. It appeared as if Alistair and Marjorie were inspiring plenty of goodwill around Kembleford. With a couple of notable exceptions he had observed at the party. This made him even more curious about what Alistair had said to him on the phone and how it could involve others in the village.

“You should see that maze they got over there,” Sid said, pointing into the distance. “I bet a bloke could get lost for hours.”

“Yes,” Father Brown said, a smile growing on his face. “But I imagine it would make for an interesting challenge.”

Sid chuckled as the two of them walked over toward the maze to get a closer look at it.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Lady Felicia and Marjorie had finished their tea and sandwiches and were walking around to admire the flowerbeds near the house. They were about to go inside when they both heard a muffled ‘boom’ nearby.

“What, what was that?” Marjorie said, gripping Felicia’s arm.

Felicia swallowed hard as a small spike of fear rose up inside her. She had a suspicion of what that sound could have been, but she hoped that she would turn out to be wrong.

“Marjorie, see if you can find the gardener. I’ll look for my driver and then we’ll try and find out what is going on.”

Marjorie nodded and took off toward the hedge maze while Felicia stayed closer to the house, trying to see if she could spot any sign of Sid. She knew that he’d be close by and was slightly irritated that she couldn’t find him right away.

At one point, she passed by a large window that looked into the study. Felicia glanced in to see if she could find one of the servants, but what she saw froze her blood. She couldn’t turn away as the full horror of what she was seeing sank in.

It wasn’t long before her mouth dropped open and she let out a loud, full-throated scream.

* * *

 

Father Brown and Sid both turned toward the sound of the scream.

“That sounds like Lady F. You don’t think….?”

The question was left hanging as the two of them immediately headed back toward the house in the direction of the noise. Sid swiftly ran past Father Brown who struggled to keep up. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Brown’s attention and he turned just in time to see a person running away. A person wearing a distinctive overcoat: blue with a black check.

It was a coat he had seen before.

_‘At the party….Mr. O’Neil was wearing a coat like that….’_

More yelling brought Father Brown back to the present. He dashed into the house through the kitchen entrance. It didn’t take long for him to track down the disturbance to the study.

When he walked into the room, he found Farnsby, Sid, Lady Felicia and Marjorie all huddled around in a semi-circle. Father Brown made his way through them to find Alistair on the floor. The awkward, unmoving form and the wide, unseeing eyes quickly told Brown that the man was dead.

“Call for a doctor,” Brown said as he dropped to his knees beside the body. “And I imagine Inspector Sullivan should also be notified as soon as possible.”

“What…what do you mean, Father?” Marjorie gasped. “Alistair, he….”

“There’s a wound in his chest near the heart,” Brown said. “Probably a bullet wound from the look of it. It’s hard to tell with the dark shirt he is wearing, but there are also splatters of blood on his collar.” He turned toward Marjorie. “I’m very sorry. But this was not a natural death.”

“No, oh no, Alistair!” Marjorie cried. She turned toward Lady Felicia who put her arm around her as Marjorie started to cry. Farnsby left the room to call the authorities while Sid moved back and made the sign of a cross.

Meanwhile, Father Brown began to perform the last rites. Whatever had troubled Alistair that morning was now a matter between him and God. All Father Brown could do was pray on behalf of Alistair’s soul for whatever peace and absolution could be offered.


	6. Chapter 6

Inspector Sullivan got out of his car and shook his head as he studied the manor in front of him.

He had met the Boltons a couple of times since their arrival in Kembleford. They seemed like decent hard-working people who actually earned their fortune rather than simply inheriting it. The fact that they had decided to fix up and move into this estate garnered some additional respect for them in his book. Derelict properties invited criminals and the wrong sort of drifters. Seeing another corner of Kembleford improved had made his job just a little bit easier and encouraged community cooperation.

Thus, having one of the Boltons die from what looked like murder put a dark cloud onto Sullivan’s mood. How was Kembleford supposed to grow and attract new residents if people kept getting killed at random? Not to mention how all those murders gave a distinctly negative impression of how well law and order were maintained around here.

Still, Sullivan wasn’t overly concerned with image beyond appearing competent enough to keep his position. And he cared little about that when he had a murder to solve.

He walked into the house and was ushered toward the study by the butler. The two constables who rode with Sullivan in his car followed him inside while the rest of them fanned out to search the grounds and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. When he entered the room, he wasn’t surprised to find a grieving widow near the body.

Unfortunately, he also discovered Father Brown and his usual cohorts loitering around as well.

“Father, why am I not surprised?” Sullivan mumbled. “What are the rest of you doing here this time?”

“I was visiting Marjorie when this awful thing happened,” Lady Felicia answered.

“And I drove her here,” Sid nodded, leaning back against a wall.

“Mr. Bolton had called the presbytery this morning and asked me to come see him,” Father Brown said. “He said he needed to talk about something that was troubling him.”

“Did he say what it was?” Sullivan asked.

“No,” Brown replied. He moved the brim of his hat around in his hands. “Inspector….”

“I’ll be taking witness statements from all of you later,” Sullivan interrupted. “Until then, I need you to clear this room and stay on the grounds until I say you can leave.”

“Inspector, I wonder if I could….”

“No you cannot. Just wait with the others until I need you, Father.”

“Yes, but I think it’s likely that whatever was troubling Mr. Bolton could have some bearing on his murder.”

“Which you already admitted you know nothing about,” Sullivan replied. “However, we will investigate that in due course. For now, though, this is a crime scene and I need you to leave so we can do our jobs.”

“Of course, Inspector,” Brown nodded.

Marjorie, Sid, and Lady Felicia shuffled out of the room with Father Brown close behind them. He was in the doorway when he paused and looked back at the inspector. “You might want to look a little closer at the cause of death. There’s something odd about….”

“Thank you, Father,” Sullivan said. “But I’m sure I can make my own observations from here.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Father Brown said before finally leaving the room.

After he was gone, Sullivan rubbed his eyes. While he definitely did not want to encourage the Father in his amateur sleuthing, Sullivan had learned by now that it was often prudent to take note when the priest was making more of a pest of himself than usual.

“Sergeant,” he said. Goodfellow showed up in the doorway. “After the doctor makes his preliminary report, tell him that I want a full autopsy.”

“Yes sir,” Goodfellow nodded as he turned to walk toward the entrance.

Once he was gone, Sullivan let out a long sigh and knelt beside the body. Now that he had that covered, the time for bothering with the Father’s ideas was over. Now, it was time for him to gather his own clues.

He had been working for almost ten minutes when a constable entered the room with another man in tow.

“Inspector, I think you’re going to want to hear this.”

* * *

 

In the front room, Father Brown watched as Lady Felicia tried to comfort Marjorie who was sitting next to her on a couch. Meanwhile, Sid stood off to the side, watching the activity outside through a window.

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell Arthur and Paul,” Marjorie cried. “That their father is dead? That someone actually wanted to…wanted him dead?”

Felicia put an arm around Marjorie’s shoulders and offered a handkerchief from her purse. Father Brown walked over and sat down in a chair across from them.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” he said. “If there is anything I can do….”

“Thank you, Father,” Marjorie said. “I’m sure I will be calling on you while I…until this is settled.”

“My door is always open,” Father Brown replied. “Marjorie, did you know why Alistair wanted to see me this morning?”

“No I, I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “To be honest, I didn’t even know you were coming. Alistair…he is…was…a very private person at times. Even with me.”

“Were there any problems with anyone here in Kembleford?”

“No, no we got along with pretty much everyone here. At least, I thought we did. That’s part of the reason why I was so relieved to move here. It seemed to help him, being away from former rivals and all.”

“’Help him’?” Father Brown echoed. “You mean that there were problems before?”

“Yes, I was just telling Lady Felicia about how Alistair seemed to be burdened by something before we moved here. I don’t know what it was, but with the way Alistair acted once we started living here, I thought it was over. I just…I just wish he would have told me if there was a problem.”

“Perhaps he was trying to spare you from something he thought might upset you,” Brown mused. “One last thing, do you know the man who came to visit him earlier? You butler mentioned that his name was Mr. Cavendish.”

Marjorie sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with Felicia’s handkerchief. “Cavendish? Yes, he used to work for Alistair. He was an accountant and he kept up on all the financial records for Alistair. He was with us for many years, but then, suddenly, they had a falling out and Alistair gave him notice.”

“Did Alistair ever say why he let Cavendish go?” Brown inquired.

“I asked once,” Marjorie answered. “Alistair said it was over money. Apparently they couldn’t come to terms over Cavendish’s salary. Although, Alistair did make sure to give him a very generous severance when he left. After that, Alistair never spoke of him again. So I can’t see why Cavendish would come here. I mean, I can’t imagine that Alistair would have asked him to come after the arguments they apparently had.”

“I see,” Brown nodded. “Perhaps one of them wanted to make amends.”

“I suppose that could have been it,” Marjorie said. “They had been good friends up until that point. I just, I don’t know, Father.”

She shook her head again before letting it fall forward as she started to cry again. Father Brown rose from his chair and walked over to where Sid was standing.

“Sid, when we were outside together and heard the shot, did you see anyone?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice low enough so Marjorie couldn’t hear their conversation.

“No,” Sid replied.

“What about when we were running back toward the house?”

“No I….” Sid’s brow creased for a moment. “Hang on, I thought I saw something…someone moving away from the maze we were looking at. Figured it was the gardener.”

“Why is that?”

“Well…whoever it was wasn’t running or hiding or anything like that. He just walked around like he belonged there.” Sid paused for a moment, but then let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Father. That’s all I remember about him. I didn’t get a good look.”

“That’s quite all right, Sid,” Father Brown said, patting his arm. “You’ve already given me something useful.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Brown could see Sid grin and trace of a smile appeared on his own lips for a second. Then he looked outside again to see the constables still patrolling the grounds.

“Sid, do you think Lady Felicia will let me borrow you for a couple of hours?”

“Probably,” Sid shrugged. “She’s already told me that she wants to stay here for a while so Marjorie won’t be alone. Why?”

“I’d like for us to take another look around the grounds,” Father Brown said. “And then, hopefully, we can prevent Inspector Sullivan from making a terrible mistake.”

* * *

 

After asking for Lady Felicia’s permission, the two of them went outside. First, they retraced their steps from when they were walking near the maze to when they arrived back to the house. Then they walked over to the area outside of the study. Father Brown surveyed the space around it for several moments before crouching down in front of some bushes that were next to the window.

“Find something?” Sid asked.

“Perhaps,” Father Brown said, his eyebrows furrowing together. He touched some of the leaves on the bush and then sniffed his fingers. Then he stood back up and put his hat back on. “We need to talk to Sullivan.”

The two of them walked back toward the front of the house just in time to see Sullivan get into his car and take off.

“So much for that,” Sid huffed. “He seemed to be in a hurry, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Brown said. “And I’m pretty sure I know where he is going. Sid…”

Sid nodded and headed over toward the Rolls Royce. Father Brown followed him and was about to get in when he happened to glance over at the crowed that had gathered in front of the estate. Among the expected servants and staff, one person stood out: a woman with a stricken expression who was staring at the house. More precisely, a woman who had a similar expression on her face when Brown had last seen her.

_‘Sarah Wingate. But why is she here? Unless….’_

“Father?” Sid called out. “You coming?”

“Oh yes,” Brown said, climbing into the backseat. He watched Sarah walk away and made a mental note to call on her later.

Meanwhile, Sid started up the car and sped down the driveway and headed back to Kembleford. Normally, Father Brown would discourage this, but this time, he could see a need for Sid’s tendency to speed. He was certain that Sullivan would find someone who had also seen Mr. O’Neil on the grounds and who remembered O’Neil’s outburst at the party. After that, it wouldn’t be long before Sullivan would start seeing O’Neil as a potential murder suspect.

Not that Father Brown thought that it would be a bad assumption to make, given the evidence. There was a chance that O’Neil could be the murderer. Still, it was only an assumption and Father Brown was convinced that too many people had been hanged on the strength of little more than assumptions.

Unfortunately, the sight of a black police car in front of O’Neil’s shop told Father Brown that their haste had been in vain. Only seconds after Sid had parked the car and they had gotten out of it, O’Neil was being escorted out of his shop in handcuffs.

“Bruce O’Neil, I’m arresting you under suspicion for the murder of Alistair Bolton,” Sullivan said as O’Neil was loaded into the back of the car. As the door to the car was slammed shut, Annie O’Neil came running out of the shop.

“Dad? Dad, what’s happening?” she cried out. “What’s going on?”

Father Brown caught her as she tried to approach the car and put a hand on her arm. Then he turned toward Sullivan.

“Inspector, might I have a word…?”

“Forget it, Father, I don’t need your interference this time,” Sullivan said. “I’ve got witnesses, who heard O’Neil threaten Mr. Bolton at the party. In fact, I am one of those witnesses. ”

“You were at the party?” Brown said. “I didn’t see you.”

“We also have a witness who saw O’Neil on the grounds just after Bolton was shot,” Sullivan continued, ignoring his comment. “And who reported that O’Neil was running away from the house.”

“Yes, I had seen him as well,” Brown nodded.

“Thankfully, Mr. Bolton’s gardener decided to be a little more helpful in assisting a police investigation and shared that information with us rather than keep it to himself,” Sullivan replied, his tone growing testy. “Then there is this.”

Sullivan help up a gun with a pencil and eased it into a paper bag that another constable brought over to him.

“Recently fired,” he said. “And I’ll wager that they’ll discover that it was the same caliber that was used on Bolton. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Father.”

Sullivan got into the car and drove away. By this point, Annie had fallen silent and had simply stared as the car disappeared from sight. She moved away from the Father and put a hand over her mouth.

“Annie,” Father Brown said. “I’m sorry. If there is something I can do, my door is always open.”

“Thank you, Father,” Annie said quietly. “I…I just, please excuse me. I….”

Annie walked swiftly down the road, her breaths hitching as she went. Sid moved closer to Father Brown and shook his head.

“First her mother dies, now this,” he said. “She’s got it rough, Father.”

“Yes she does,” Brown said. “But I don’t think that Bruce O’Neil killed Alistair Bolton.”

“You don’t?” Sid replied. “You sure about that? Everyone heard Bruce yelling at him at that party. And Sullivan did find a gun on him.”

“True,” Brown said. “But let’s just say that I’m not as certain of things as the Inspector appears to be.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Bruce O’Neil glowered as Inspector Sullivan walked into the interrogation room. Sullivan had expected this. He’d listened to O’Neil protest loudly during the ride to the station and while he was being processed. Even though he had finally stopped when he was escorted to a cell, Sullivan did not imagine for one moment that O’Neil was finished with being angry at him. Or that he would be cooperative.

However, Sullivan didn’t really need him to be cooperative.

“Look, I’m not sorry that that bastard is dead. He got what was coming to him,” O’Neil huffed as Sullivan sat down across from him. “But there’s no way you can pin this on me.”

“Actually, there is,” Sullivan said. He pulled the gun out of the paper bag he had brought into the room. “This gun was found in your shop. It had been fired recently. And your fingerprints were on it. And the preliminary reports indicate that it’s the same caliber as the one that killed Alistair Bolton.”

“Of course my fingerprints were on it,” O’Neil scowled. “Look, I told you. Tom Barrett sold me that gun almost a week ago. Said it got it from a box of stuff that he got after his uncle died. He said he needed to sell it so he could get some money to fix up his old barn. Although, you and I know it probably went for whiskey. You can ask him about it.”

“We have,” Sullivan nodded. “He confirms your story. But that doesn’t explain why it’s been fired recently. Or why we found it in a bin. Or why your fingerprints are the only ones on it.”

“I cleaned it up after he sold it to me,” O’Neil countered. “So it figures that only my fingerprints would be on it. As for the rest of it…I have no idea. Someone must have stolen it.”

“You say someone stole it and then returned it to your shop?” Sullivan said, raising an eyebrow.

“They must have,” O’Neil replied. “Don’t ask me why they did it.”

“And how do you explain the fact that you were seen running from the premises moments after Mr. Bolton was shot?”

O’Neil slapped the edge of the table with his palms. “I told you! I wasn’t there!”

“We have sworn statements from two eye witnesses who saw you.”

“Then they’re lying. I was never at that house. They didn’t see me.”

Sullivan leaned forward, confident that he was closing in. “But you were on the grounds, weren’t you?”

O’Neil shifted about on his chair. “All right, I was. Alistair had called me that morning. Said he had something to tell me. So I went there to tell him some more about what I thought of him and of his calling me like that. But I never saw him. I was walking up to the house when I heard the shot. I didn’t know what was happening, but I wanted no part of any shooting. So I ran.”

“Or maybe you came over to make good on the threats you had made at the party two days ago,” Sullivan said. “Dozens of people, including me, saw you threaten Bolton. Something about how he was going to get what was coming to him.”

“No! No, that was….” O’Neil paused and rocked back in his chair. “Do you know what that man did to my family? He took everything we had. All of you think he’s so wonderful just because he has money and throws a little bit of it around for charity. Charity.” O’Neil snorted. “The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Other than how it could make him look good. And you’d be angry too if he had done to you what he did to me and mine.”

“Angry enough to kill, perhaps?” Sullivan nodded.

“That’s not what I said!” O’Neil nearly shouted. He took a deep breath and hunched down in his chair. “I might have wanted him dead, but I didn’t make it happen. And I’m not the only one who wanted him dead.”

“Maybe. But you are the only one threatened Bolton publically,” Sullivan said. “And who was also seen on the grounds and who had handled the murder weapon.”

Sullivan put the gun back in the bag and pushed his chair back from the table. “You admitted that you had gone there to confront him. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him at first, but then maybe things got out of control.”

O’Neil sank down in his chair even more. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but immediately closed it and shook his head instead. Sullivan motioned for Sgt. Goodfellow to escort O’Neil back to his cell which the sergeant did right away.

A part of him empathized with O’Neil. If what he had said was true, then O’Neil had cause to feel a need for retribution. However, it was still not enough to wipe away the satisfaction he felt upon tracking down a murderer. Personal vengeance had no place in an orderly society. Arresting criminals and taking them out of society restored that order.

Granted, they needed to wait until the pathologist was finished and ballistics on the gun were taken care of before they could be completely certain. Still, Sullivan was confident that they had the right man and was pleased that the investigation would be wrapped up quickly with little fuss.

That confidence evaporated the moment Sullivan walked out into the squad area and saw Father Brown sitting on a bench. Probably waiting for him.

“Ah Inspector,” Brown said, getting up from his seat. “If I can have a word….”

“Not now, Father,” Sullivan said, brushing by him. In the past, he tried to explain to the Father why he needed to stay out of official investigation. But he had soon learned that trying to reason with Brown was treated as an opening for the Father to offer unwanted opinions. Now, he knew better. As a result, Sullivan immediately headed straight for his office rather than pause to talk.

Unfortunately, the Father rarely took subtle hints like this seriously.

“Are you going to charge Bruce O’Neil?” Father Brown asked. Sullivan sighed and paused next to the door of his office.

“Father, we have your sworn statement and the gardener’s that O’Neil was there at the time of the shooting. We have almost an entire village of witnesses who saw and heard O’Neil threaten him. And he was in possession of what was most likely the murder weapon.”

“But you aren’t sure of that, are you?” Brown replied.

“Of course we can’t be absolutely sure yet,” Sullivan answered. “But I would be negligent in my duties if I didn’t at least detain someone with that much evidence implicating them.”

Father Brown fell silent and for a brief moment, Sullivan thought that he was finished.

“Did your men happen to notice the area outside of the study?” Brown inquired while Sullivan cursed his luck.

“Of course we searched the area around the crime scene, Father. We do have some inkling of how to do our jobs.”

“Oh of course, of course,” Brown assured him. “I was just wondering what you thought about that fact that the shrub just outside the study window smelled like alcohol. Whiskey, I believe. And there was a decanter of whiskey in the study, was there not? And it was almost full. Doesn’t that strike you as rather odd?”

“Perhaps it was O’Neil who spilled it or had you considered that?” Sullivan responded. “He did have a flask on him when we arrested him.”

“So…you’re saying that he stood right outside the study and drank whiskey before dumping the rest of it into the bushes and shooting Mr. Bolton?”

“It could be that he was trying to work up his nerve,” Sullivan said. “And with his nerves being the way they were, he ended up spilling some of it.”

“But there would have been a puddle underneath the bushes if he had done that so recently,” Father Brown said. “Or the ground would have been damp. But I can assure you that there was no puddle or dampness on the ground when I examined it soon after the shooting. No, whoever had done that must have done it several hours beforehand. Maybe even the might previous.”

“Father, I really don’t have time to check around for every possible vagrant who might have gotten drunk and wandered onto the Bolton estate last night. In case you hadn’t noticed, I do have a murder to solve.”

“All I’m suggesting is that the contents of the decanter in Mr. Bolton’s study be analyzed,” Father Brown said.

“For what?” Sullivan replied. “We already know that Bolton was killed by a gunshot through the heart. The preliminary report from the surgeon makes that quite clear.”

“Yes, but I have a feeling that an analysis of the contents in that decanter could turn up something very interesting,” Brown said. “Call it a hunch of mine.”

“I’m inclined to call it something else,” Sullivan frowned. “Now, if you don’t mind, Father. I have some reports that need to get written.”

“May I see Mr. O’Neil?” Father Brown asked. “He and his family have attended St. Mary’s in the past and I imagine Mr. O’Neil could use some spiritual guidance right now.”

“All right, Father,” Sullivan nodded. “See if you can get him to confess while you’re at it. Sergeant.”

Brown nodded as Goodfellow appeared and guided him toward the cells. Sullivan shook his head and went into his office, closing the door behind him.

He had intended to sit down and start immediately on those reports, but to his great annoyance, he found himself distracted. He was almost certain that the detail about the whiskey was simply a trivial thing with a straightforward, mundane explanation. Still, he couldn’t get rid of the small, nagging doubt that perhaps it wasn’t. That there could be something to what the Father was saying.

Sullivan pinched the bridge of his nose while letting out a long sigh. Father Brown was an irritant. He was nosy, overly curious, and tended to involve himself into things that he had no business getting involved in. Still in spite of all that, Sullivan was forced to admit that Brown also had a keen mind and that his hunches were usually worth looking into.

He opened the door back up and leaned out through the doorway just as Goodfellow was walking back into the squad room.

“Sergeant, send a man over to the Bolton estate to collect the decanter from the study. Have someone do an analysis of the contents.”

“Yes sir,” Goodfellow nodded. “Anything else, sir?”

“Yes…call the coroner and tell him that I want a toxicology report on the victim. Tell him to look for anything that might be suspicious.”

“Yes sir,” Goodfellow repeated. “I’ll get right on it.”

Sullivan went back into his office and closed the door before sitting down behind his desk. He still didn’t think that any of this would turn out to be relevant, but at least now he could put it out of his mind and focus on the real detective work at hand. Besides there was always the chance that the Father could be wrong and that he could inform Brown of that fact.

Granted, based on his experiences since moving to Kembleford, the chances of that being the case were probably slim. Still, Sullivan figured he could continue to hope.

* * *

 

“No offense, Father, but I’m not sure why you came here,” O’Neil said as Father Brown sat down next to him. “I’ve got nothing to say. Other than I didn’t do this.”

Father Brown nodded and took off his hat and sat it down next to his umbrella. He thought back to when the O’Neils moved to Kembleford several years ago. Bruce had reluctantly accompanied his wife and daughter to Mass although Brown suspected that his reluctance wasn’t due to an absence of faith as much as a crisis of it. However, after O’Neil’s wife died, Bruce stopped coming completely. Annie had mentioned to him that she didn’t believe that her father had turned his back on God, but so far, Brown had not been able to draw O’Neil back into the fold.

Still, Father Brown knew that God did not give up on anyone so easily. So neither should he.

“I’m sure your daughter is worried about you,” Brown said. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell her?”

O’Neil let out a long sigh and leaned back, his face tilted toward the ceiling. “But she hasn’t been to see me. Probably thinks that I did it. I suppose I can’t really blame her. Everyone else around here seems to think I did it too.”

“Why did you go to Mr. Bolton’s house?” Father Brow asked him. O’Neil heaved another huge sigh.

“He called me this morning and said that he needed me to come to his place to tell me something. I started to tell him what he could do with his invitation, but then he said something about how what he had to say could be a help to me and my daughter. When he said that…I told him I’d come, but I was still planning on telling him what I thought of him and about how much he had hurt my family. I rehearsed what I was going to say the entire way there. I was so caught up in it, I hardly realized that I was on the grounds of his estate until I heard the shot. Once I realized where I was…forgive me, Father, but I took off and ran like a coward.”

“Have you told any of this to Inspector Sullivan?”

“Not all of it. I told him that Alistair wanted to see me and that I wanted to tell him off…but not the rest of it. Not the part where Alistair said that there would be something in it for me and my family.”

“Why not?” Father Brown asked. “The inspector is currently working under the assumption that Alistair had called you to his house simply to reason with you. Knowing that he intended to try to make some kind of amends with you would give Inspector Sullivan a new perspective on what happened. Possibly a much more favorable one. At the very least, it would place doubt on any motive you might have had to kill him. Why keep it a secret?”

“Because I didn’t want that man’s charity!” O’Neil roared. He jumped up from the bench and paced back and forth in front of Father Brown. “He thought that he could make up for the loss of my family’s livelihood, for my wife, for all those wasted years with what? A few words and a little bit of money? That couldn’t begin to make up for all that.”

“And yet you still went to see him,” Brown replied. “And I suspect it wasn’t solely out of a desire to tell him the same sorts of things you said at the party.” He paused and tilted his head. “I think you don’t want to admit that you were going there to accept whatever assistance he was willing to offer.”

The effect of Father Brown’s words on O’Neil was instantaneous. O’Neil’s shoulders slumped and his gaze dropped down to the floor, his eyes dimming. With just a few words, he had changed from a man enraged to a man defeated.

O’Neil sat back down next to Father Brown and was silent for a minute before finally speaking again.

“I haven’t told Annie, but the truth is…I’m having trouble paying my bills. In fact, I’m getting behind. Paying for the doctors and for the medicine for my wife…I haven’t been able to recover from it. I borrowed some money from people, you see. The wrong sort of people. We’re close to losing everything again, Father.”

O’Neil ran his hands over his face and went back to looking at the ceiling. “I didn’t want to hear what Alistair wanted to tell me. I didn’t want to hear any of his excuses. But Annie…I couldn’t let her get thrown out onto the street or get sent to the work houses.”

“So, you decided that ‘pride goes before a fall’,” Brown nodded. “But why were you willing to put your pride aside to see Alistair, and yet not willing to put it aside to avoid being sent to the scaffold?”

“Because I don’t want Annie to know what I was doing,” O’Neil said. “And if the inspector were to start looking around, he’d realize that I’m not the only one who would have liked to see Alistair dead. Why don’t they have a talk with Sarah Wingate about her involvement with Alistair? Oh yes, I’m sure she’d have plenty to tell them if they could get her to talk. Her brother too. And what about that other bloke who came down here? Cavendish?”

“What about him?” Brown asked, immediately interested.

“I talked to Mrs. Hargrove,” O’Neil said. “He’s staying at her boarding house. She told me that he was asking about Alistair and that the look in his eyes wasn’t a friendly one. Like maybe he wanted to throttle him or something. Or what about the supposedly respectable Mr. Carstairs? I heard he showed up at the party and tried to act all pally with Alistair. But that’s rubbish. He’s every bit as bad as Alistair. Maybe even worse.”

O’Neil rocked forward and made sure to look Father Brown in the eye. “The truth is, Father, Alistair was an evil man. An evil man who destroyed almost everything he touched. No one can go around spreading that kind of poison and not expect someone to finally strike back. It’s divine justice is what that is.”

“Justice is the Lord’s purview,” Father Brown said. “The justice of man is a poor substitute. Even so, the rule of law is not so far from God’s own commandments and part of maintaining it involves not taking the law into our own hands as a way to harm others.”

O’Neil shook his head and leaned back again. “It’s easy to say that when you haven’t been hurt the way our family has. Besides, I didn’t kill Alistair, so what does it matter that I think he deserved what he got?”

“You might not have killed him, but your anger and your refusal to let go of the past are preventing you from taking actions that could save you and your family from even more grief.”

“Are you defending him, Father?” O’Neil said. “Are you saying I should forgive and forget all the things he did to me? Why? Because he was going to help out the church or something? Is that it?”

“I’m not saying any of this for Alistair’s sake,” Brown said, frowning. “Whatever he has done, it is a matter between him and God. I’m saying this for your sake. For Annie’s.”

“So you’re saying I should just trust in God?” O’Neil said. “I forgive Alistair and God will help me out of this mess. And stop me from losing everything I have left.”

“I can make no such guarantee,” Father Brown said. “Nor does God make promises that His children will never face hardships. But He does promise to save the soul of anyone who puts their faith in Him and who chooses to follow His directives.”

Brown put his hat back on and stood up from the bench.

“Consider this. For years now, you have leaned on your own understanding and abilities to sort through the difficulties in your life. Perhaps now would be a good time to consider an alternative.”

With that, Father Brown knocked on the door and was let out of the cell while O’Neil watched him with astonishment written into his features.  


	8. Chapter 8

An hour later, Father Brown cycled over to the Wingate’s bakery. Once he was there, he peered inside and saw Sarah’s brother, Nigel, working inside.

Brown frowned. He had hoped to talk to Sarah alone, but as it was, he’d have to make do with the circumstances. He put a smile on his face and walked in through the doorway, a little bell chiming as he did so.

Nigel stopped his sweeping and nodded at him. “Good afternoon, Father. Is there something I can get for you?”

Father Brown stepped over to the cases of baked goods while still keeping an eye on Nigel. Sarah’s brother had the same dark brown eyes and wavy hair she did. The resemblance between them was remarkable. “Yes, ah, I was wondering if you had any hot cross buns,” he said. “Say, about half a dozen?”

“Right,” Nigel nodded. He leaned his broom against a nearby wall and went over to the cases. He examined them for a moment before shaking his head. “Sorry Father. Looks like we’re fresh out.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” Brown replied. “Then…how about some tarts? I think I see some over there.” Father Brown pointed at a case and Nigel walked over to the direction indicated.

“Right you are,” Nigel said. “We’ve got three lemon tarts left. Would you like all of them? I could let you have them for, oh say, a pence over the price of two of them.”

“How could I turn down an offer like that?” Father Brown beamed at him. “Thank you.”

Nigel nodded again and took the tarts out of the case and began wrapping them into a small box with wax paper. Brown wasn’t sure if he could handle eating three whole tarts on his own before Mrs. McCarthy could discover them that evening. But then he remembered that Sid was supposed to drop by the presbytery in a couple of hours, and Brown knew his problem was solved.

Nigel tied the box with a string and handed it over to Father Brown before walking over to fetch his broom. Brown looked at the box in his hands and smiled again before reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy these tarts,” he said as he handed Nigel the money. “Although, I did have my heart set on those hot cross buns. Perhaps, if I could talk to your sister about placing a special order….”

“Sarah’s busy right now,” Nigel cut in. “Taking care of the books and getting things ready for tomorrow. If you want to place a special order with her, you’ll have to do it in the morning.”

“Oh I see,” Father Brown said. “I suppose it can wait then. And how about you, Nigel? Is work here keeping you busy? I haven’t seen you for some weeks at St Mary’s. Or your sister for that matter.”

“Sorry Father,” Nigel said, starting to sweep again. “But we’ve hit a bit of a rough patch these days, so the shop has kept us too busy to do much else other than attend to it. Some days, we barely got time to eat and sleep.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brown said. “If there’s anything I can do….”

“No, Father,” Nigel said, holding up his hands. “Thank you, but…well, we’ve had hard times before. But we always get through them. Things will turn around soon.”

“I see,” Brown repeated, looking down at the box in his hands. “I imagine that was what was preying on Sarah’s mind when I saw her at the party at the Bolton’s estate. She didn’t seem to be having a very good time.”

Brown looked up in time to see Nigel clenching his jaw. “I didn’t see you there either,” he continued. “Which is a shame because your presence might have lifted her spirits.”

“I was busy,” Nigel said. “And Sarah went to the party so she could have a break from her worries. Although, I doubted that a fancy party was going to make much of a difference anyway.”

“No, I suppose it might not,” Brown said. “Then again, I don’t think Sarah went to enjoy herself.”

“You don’t?” Nigel snorted. “What other reason is there to go to a party?”

“To see Alistair Bolton,” Brown answered. “Bruce O’Neil mentioned that the two of them had known each other. And I suspect that you knew Alistair as well.”

Nigel let out a short huff of frustration and rubbed his hand across his mouth. He motioned for Father Brown to move closer to a corner near the door with him.

“Look, we did know Alistair. A long time ago. She was seeing him for a while, but that was before she found out that Alistair was also interested in Marjorie. Sarah realized that she was making a mistake and the bakery we had at the time wasn’t doing all that well. So it seemed like the right time to make a fresh start.”

“So you sold your business and moved to Kembleford to begin again,” Brown replied.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Nigel said. “Sarah had a friend from school who recommended this place, so we decided to give it a go. We were able to get enough from the sale of our bakery there to afford an even nicer place here with plenty of money left over to get things going. It was the right decision, Father. We’re happy here.”

“I’m glad,” Father Brown smiled. “Although, I’m sure you weren’t happy to see Alistair move here with his wife. And I don’t imagine Sarah was either.”

“Quite honestly, we didn’t care,” Nigel said. “It was over and done with decades ago. Like I said, we’re happy here.”

“And yet, your sister decided to go to Alistair’s party. That doesn’t seem like the actions of someone who has no feelings about Alistair moving here.”

“Maybe she just wanted to get it over with,” Nigel said. “You know, get used to the idea of him being here. Because she knew she’d have to. Or maybe she wanted to spend time with some of our friends who were going to be there, but simply couldn’t when she saw him.” He leaned closer to Father Brown.

“I know you’re here because O’Neil is desperate to find someone else to blame for what he did. But he’s not pinning this on my sister. Or me. Alistair Bolton is in the past and neither of us had anything to do with his death.”

Father Brown nodded. He wasn’t sure if he still considered the Wingates as possible murder suspects….but he was also certain that they were hiding something. He just wasn’t sure of what it was yet.

“Thank you for the tarts,” Father Brown said. “I’m sure that I’ll enjoy them. And I do hope things will improve for you and Sarah soon.”

“Thank you, Father,” Nigel said, relaxing his posture slightly. “I’ll be sure to let her know that you’re thinking of her. She’ll be grateful for that.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Brown said, opening the door. “I just hope that….”

“That what, Father?”

“I hope that your past isn’t getting in the way of your present,” Brown said.

With that, Brown left the bakery and got onto his bicycle to head back to the presbytery. He had some ideas for a couple of jobs for Sid to do. He also needed time to think about what Nigel had told him while he attended to other more mundane parish duties in his office.

Whatever Sarah and Nigel were hiding, Father Brown was certain that it was related to the case. Even if it wasn’t the murder itself.

* * *

 

Back in the bakery, Nigel heaved a huge sigh and worked on the sweeping. He had just finished when Sarah appeared from the back.

“Nigel…maybe we should talk to the Father.”

“I said no, Sarah,” Nigel replied. “How many times have I got to tell you that we need to keep quiet?”

“But Nigel, I’m sure Bruce didn’t kill him. What if he is…?”

“What? So you’d rather set us up for the hangman’s noose instead?” Nigel shot back. “Even though we didn’t do anything wrong?”

Sarah bowed her head. “Maybe we didn’t actually commit murder…but we did do something wrong, didn’t we?”

Nigel walked over to her and put his hands on her arms. “Look, that man got what he deserved,” he insisted while trying to keep his tone soothing. “And now we’re in the clear. So let’s just…put it all behind us once and for all.”

“You’re right,” Sarah nodded. “I know you’re right. It’s just…right now, I don’t know how we’ll be able to do that.”

Nigel gave his sister a hug. He would never dream of saying it aloud, but right then, he wasn’t sure how they were going to be able to do it either.

* * *

 

Later that evening, Nicky and Sid were sitting outside of the Red Lion, sipping on some beers.

“Sid, you thought any more about my offer?” Nicky asked, draining most of the rest of his beer from his mug. “About finding you some work from Mr. Carstairs? I’ve been telling him about you.”

“I bet you have,” Sid smirked.

“On the level, I swear,” Nicky said, holding up his hands. “I told him you’re a dependable, hard-working bloke who doesn’t mind getting his hands a little dirty for a good cause.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that went over well with the likes of him,” Sid snorted.

“You might be surprised,” Nicky replied. “When you’re into big business the way Mr. Carstairs is, sometimes you have to play a little outside the rules to get ahead.”

Sid smirked again and nodded. That was hardly a revelation to him. He had believed that many people who had wealth and power were probably underhanded in some way for a long time. It was a cynicism born out of years of exposure to the less savory sections of society…which often seemed to have more honor than the so-called respectable parts of it.

Also, it fit with the fact that Carstairs had hired Nicky as a personal assistant in the first place. Not that he considered Nicky such a bad sort. At least, no more than he saw himself that way. Then again, Sid was also aware of what “respectable” people thought of him.

“Right,” Sid said, finishing his beer. “But I’m sure you made certain not to talk me up too much. So your boss won’t wonder if he should make some changes in the payroll.”

“All right, you’ve got me there,” Nicky laughed. “After all, I’ve got to protect my interests. Even when I’m doing a favor for an old friend.”

“Can’t fault you for that,” Sid shrugged. Nicky finished his beer and sat the mug down next to Sid’s.

“So how about it?” he asked. “You ready to move onto bigger things? Because I might be able to get you working on something later tonight if you’re interested.”

“Can’t right now, Nicky,” Sid said. “The Father has me checking into some stuff related to that murder at the Bolton’s estate.”

“You’re still running around as his little spy, are you?” Nicky replied, making a face. “Thought you gave that up after he went off during the war. Besides, they already arrested someone for that, didn’t they? Case closed then.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” Sid said. “And I’m not a spy. I’m just helping him out with this case. And the Father doesn’t think O’Neil did it.”

“Look Sid, why not let the inspector handle it?” Nicky said. “He seems like a decent lot who knows how to do his job.”

“Yeah, Sullivan’s all right,” Sid said. “But he’s got it wrong this time. I’ve been around the Father long enough to know that, when he thinks someone’s got it wrong, he’s usually right.”

“And since when did you become a champion of law and order? What have the police ever done for you, eh?”

“It’s not about that,” Sid insisted. “It’s just the right thing to do. Come on, Nicky, there’s the stuff we used to do, sure. But we weren’t really hurting anyone. Killing people is a whole other thing and you know it.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Nicky shrugged. “But Sid, is this really what you want to spend your life doing? Driving a lady around, fixing up people’s houses and doing the leg work for a priest who fancies himself an amateur sleuth? Don’t you want something more?”

Nicky put a couple of coins on the table they were sitting at. “I’ve got to go. The boss wants me to look over some stuff with him before we get started tomorrow. Buy yourself another pint on me. And think about what I’ve said Sid. Think hard. You can’t possibly want to be stuck here in Kembleford forever. This is your chance to get something more out of life. Something better.”

Nicky walked away, leaving Sid to brood over what his friend had said again. For years, it hadn’t even occurred to him to leave Kembleford. Not even to go back to London. But Nicky’s words hit upon a bit of uncertainty he’d been carrying around for the last couple of years. There really was no reason why he couldn’t make a go of heading back to London. Or going somewhere else to find his fortune.

So what was really keeping him here? The Father? His friends? Habit and familiarity? The more Sid thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became.

And the more he realized why he had been dodging this question for so long.

* * *

 

All throughout the Mooreland’s farm, the quiet had settled in.

It was completely dark now with the stars barely visible in the sky. Everyone had gone to bed and the animals had settled into their pens and behind fences for slumber. The moon was slowly being covered by long grey fingers of clouds.

Once the moon was completely obscured, a pair of dark figures crept up near an abandoned barn on the property.

Their actions were swift and methodical. They opened all the fences and pens, allowing the animals to wander out into the night. There were occasional sounds during their departure, but neither figure seemed concerned. With reason as no one from the house had stirred.

After the animals got a few yards from their enclosures, the cans of petrol were put to work. They doused the barn and the fences, pouring what was left into the piles of straw scattered about. Then one of them produced a match, lighting it and flicking it toward the barn. In seconds, the entire structure was ablaze.

The two of them ran toward the nearby woods just before the inhabitants of the house finally became aware of what was going on.

A woman dragged her children out of the house and screamed, urging the teenage boy coming up behind them to run into to town for help. The boy took off while the father scooped up a bucket and walked resolutely toward the barn.

“Matthew! Matthew, what are you doing?” the woman cried.

“I’ve got to save our barn,” Matthew yelled. “We can’t afford to lose it.”

Matthew dragged his bucket through a trough and approached the barn. He heaved the bucket toward the heart of the fire, watching to see if he could make a dent.

He was so focused on his task, he did not see the bending of one of the walls.

“Matthew!”

The fire roared on while the sounds of wailing echoed into the night.


End file.
